Page 14 of Ruthless Savior
I use my free hand to claw at his face, my nails raking across his cheek and drawing blood. He swears in what might be Gaelic and grabs my other wrist, but I'm beyond caring about the pain in my joints as he restrains me, the lamp falling to the floor and breaking as he tries to maneuver me toward the bed. That only panics me more.
"Let me go! Let mego!" I'm screaming now, thrashing against his grip, trying to knee him, bite him, anything to get away. "I need to get home! My mother needs me!"
"Stop." His voice is sharp now, commanding. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"Liar!" I spit at him, catching him across the chin. "You're all liars!"
Something changes in his expression—a flicker of what might be surprise, or maybe respect. He's strong enough to subdue me completely, probably could have knocked me unconscious again if he wanted to, but instead, he just holds my wrists and lets me exhaust myself fighting.
Finally, when I'm gasping and shaking from the effort, he speaks again.
"My name is Ronan O'Malley. I pulled you out of Rocco De Luca's warehouse last night." His grip on my wrists loosens slightly, but he doesn't let go. "You were unconscious in a cage, filthy, and clearly drugged. I brought you here because it was the safest place I could think of."
Rocco's warehouse. The fragments of memory sharpen into focus: being dragged from Neil’s garage, other women crying from somewhere else in the house, waking up in darkness that smelled of rust and mildew before I was drugged again.
"You saved me?" My voice comes out small, uncertain. I don’t know if I should believe this man, but he hasn’t actually hurt me yet. Hecouldhave, but he hasn’t—in fact, he seems to have gone out of his way not to. But, at the same time, I trusted Neil—at least enough to sign my name and take his money. And look where that got me.
"Yeah."
I study his face, looking for deception, for the predatory smile that was plastered on Neil’s face every time he looked at me. Instead, I find something complicated—anger, yes, butnot directed at me. Exhaustion. And something that might be genuine concern.
I take a deep, shaky breath. “Oh,” I whisper, and then I gather myself, stiffening my spine as I look up at him. He hasn’t let go of my wrists yet. "Thank you. But I need to go home. My mother—she's sick, she has cancer, and she needs me to take her to chemo, and she's probably worried sick about where I am?—"
"You can't leave. Not yet." He interrupts me, not rudely, but firmly.
The words hit me like a physical blow. "What do you mean I can't leave?"
“Rocco De Luca trades in people.Women.”Ronan drops my wrists, seeming to sense that while I’m not calm, I’m at least not violent now, and puts his hands loosely on my shoulders, looking down at me with a sincerity that tells me he’s not lying. “If he had you, that means he thinks he owns you. If you go home right now, he will come after you. He’ll hurt others to get to you, including your mother and anyone else you care about who might be in the way. If you leave this house, you’re putting them in danger. You’ll lead him right to them.”
Every word feels like a needle driving into my skin. I stare up at him, horrified at the calm with which he’s saying these unthinkable things. Evenly, normally, like this is everyday life for him.
Maybe it is. He was in that warehouse, too. I don’t know why. I don’t know if Iwantto know why. But he left there with me.
“You were there, too,” I snap, giving voice to my thoughts as I push his hands off of my shoulders and take a step back. He lets me go, which makes me feel marginally better about him, though not much. “What were you doing at a place owned by a man who traffics women?”
“Going after him,” Ronan says calmly. "For reasons of my own. And I need to know how you ended up in his hands,"he continues. "What you owed him, why he targeted you specifically. Until I understand that, I can't figure out how to keep you safe."
Safe. When was the last time I felt safe? Before Mom's diagnosis? Before I took out that loan? I realize I don’t remember, and that scares me, too. It makes me dig in my heels, because while this man seems sincere, I don’t know him and I’m loath to trust anyone I don’t know now, after what just happened.
"I’m not going to tell you that." The words come out harsher than I intended. "It's not your business."
His expression doesn’t change. "It became my business when I pulled you out of that cage."
"I didn't ask you to!" The panic is rising again, threatening to choke me. "I didn't ask for any of this! I just want to go home!"
Ronan stares at me for a long moment, and I can see him weighing options, calculation in his hazel eyes. He takes a step back, giving me more space, and I glance at the broken lamp before I look back at him.
He really is handsome. Not at all the kind of man I pictured in my terror when Neil told me what he was going to do with me. He’s the kind of gorgeous I never expected to see in real life, let alone be standing in a bedroom in his house, wearing flimsy silk nightclothes that I’m sure he can see my nipples through. The thought makes me cross my arms over my chest.
“Whose clothes are these?” I demand, and something flickers in Ronan’s eyes, something that almost looks like guilt. It makes me instantly wary.
"Alright," he says, his voice suddenly toneless and flat. "We'll table this conversation for now. But Leila—" He knows my name. Of course he knows my name. "—you need to understand that this isn't over. Rocco isn't going to just forget about you, and ifyou walk out of here without a plan, you're going to end up right back where I found you. Or worse."
"I can take care of myself," I snap, but I know that’s a lie. I’ve gotten caught up in something that’s way out of my wheelhouse. Something so far beyond me that I’m honestly terrified to leave and face the outside world again.
But I’m also terrified of whatever is here—of who he is and why he owns this gorgeous house, and what he was doing in that warehouse. And outside, there’s my mother. There’s everything that matters to me.
"Can you?" His voice is gentle, deep, but it cuts to the bone. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like taking care of yourself is what got you into this mess in the first place."
